


Guardian Angels

by invinciblelronman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Fallen Angels, Guardian Angel Castiel, Guardian Angels, M/M, Suicidal Dean, eventual destiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invinciblelronman/pseuds/invinciblelronman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I don't care if heaven won't take me back / I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe' - Guardian Angel AU where Dean's life gets saved by a stranger and where Castiel gets expelled from heaven. Eventual Destiel. Trigger warning: suicide attempt. Rating for language... For now. Archive Warnings may be added in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knockin' on Heaven's Door

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for visiting my very first fic. I’ll try to keep this author’s note short, but there are a few things I’d like to say before you start reading.  
> I have already written a few chapters, so I’ll be updating regularly. But, as you know, life can get very busy; I’ll try to let you know on forehand when that happens. And when I run out of new chapters, the updates might be a bit less frequent.  
> Also, English is not my native language, but the story has been beta’d by the wonderful Logan, so that won’t be a problem when you’re reading. Hopefully.  
> This fic is also posted on FanFiction.net under the same name.  
> Last but not least: I do not own anything Supernatural-related, except for the idea of this story. Neither do I own any of the lyrics I will post in this fic.

_I._

_It's gettin' dark, too dark to see  
I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door_

_That long black cloud is comin' down  
I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door_

 

It had been another long day. Tired, Dean found himself walking towards one of the local bars. He hadn't been there very often, but the sight of his usual spot disgusted him. Laughing people, happy couples; at this very moment, he couldn't stand the mere thought of having to spend the remainder of the evening among all those people. They only would remind him of what he could have had.

The bar he entered had a somewhat quieter public. Sure, there was the occasional laugh, but most of the people just kept to themselves. He liked that.

Dean sat down at the bar and ordered a whiskey. The barmaid winked at him and quickly filled the bottom of a glass with the golden liquid. As she handed it over to him, she tried to strike up a conversation.  
"So, what brings a handsome man like you to this bar in the middle of the week?" She leaned towards him on the bar, giving him a small, flirty smile. Dean didn't smile back; he merely downed the drink and smashed the glass on the bar. The barmaid didn't even flinch; she was clearly used to rougher guests.

"Life," Dean belatedly answered her after the burning feeling in his throat had somewhat disappeared. The girl smiled understandingly and refilled his glass.  
"Gotcha. It's always life, isn't it."

Dean grunted in something that could have been agreement, and soon he had another empty glass in front of him. The barmaid had disappeared to the other side of the bar, smiling sweetly to a young boy. Judging by his nervous demeanour, he'd never been to a bar before in his life.

"Hey," Dean shouted to get the attention of the barmaid. The alcohol in his system had finally managed to loosen the knot in his stomach a bit. When the girl turned around, he smiled a lopsided smile. She returned it, positively beaming at him. She winked at the nervous boy and walked back to Dean.

"Another one, sweetie?" she asked, not even waiting for his answer. In no time, he was holding another royally filled glass of whiskey.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said with the most charming smile he could muster, and held his glass a little higher in an imaginary toast.

"Very welcome, sir," she replied. She leaned forward on the bar again. Dean noticed it emphasized her cleavage, but decided it wouldn't be very polite to keep staring, so he sipped his drink and looked back at her face. Blue eyes, blonde hair. Yep, definitely pretty. She let her hair curl around her finger as she spoke again.

"So, life wasn't it. Is this the reason you're not at home tonight? With, let's say, your girlfriend?" Her tone was teasing and clearly asking for more information about his personal life. Any man would have been flattered with the flirty attention of a beautiful woman. But Dean froze, his eyes focusing on something behind the girl in front of him, his smile slowly disappearing.

It was silent for a long, awkward moment. When the barmaid was about to speak, Dean cut her short by abruptly finishing his glass and croaking, "Another." She kept silent and did as commanded.

The rest of the night went by in a blur of cheap whiskey and beer. He also did his best to ignore the knot in his stomach, which instead of loosening, tightened with every drink. Dean felt as if he would snap any moment. The opportunity came when a man sat down next to him, accidently brushing past his shoulder. Dean, who had been resting his head in his hands, looked up with watery eyes.  
"What the fuck, dude."

The man rose an eyebrow and scoffed, "Easy there, fella. Didn't mean to interrupt your beauty sleep."

An adrenaline rush took over Dean's alcohol infatuated mind. He got up from the barstool, knocking it over in the abrupt movement, and stared furiously at the other man's face. He was big, fat and ugly, Dean thought, and he definitely did not deserve the pleasure of insulting him. So Dean hit him in the face.

"Unlike you, I don't need a friggin' beauty sleep," he snapped, not noticing that the entire bar had gone silent. Slowly, the big fat ugly man rose from his chair. Only now Dean realised that the man wasn't actually big and fat. He was gigantic and muscled. He swallowed and subconsciously took a step back as the giant towered above Dean. Then, a wicked smile appeared on Dean's face.  
"So, watcha gonna do about it, huh? Too afraid to fight back?"

The man growled and stepped closer. Everybody in the bar was now looking at them, and the anxious sound of whispering filling the place.  
"I'm giving you one chance, you pathetic dipshit," the giant said with a low voice. "Shut up, sit down, finish your drink and go home."

The smile froze on Dean's face, and before he knew it, he lashed out again, his fist connecting with the giant's jaw. "I'm not fucking pathetic, you fucking-" he couldn't finish his sentence before his world went tumbling down. One second, he was speaking and the next, he was on the ground, grasping his nose and groaning loudly. A muffled "fuck" escaped from his mouth. In reply, he felt something cold pressed against his neck. He opened his eyes to stare directly in the eyes of the giant. He was way too fucking close.

"Get the fuck off me, Cartman," Dean managed to say. The cold thing suddenly felt a lot sharper than before, and when Dean looked down, he realized it was a knife.  
"Oh, so you're gonna kill me, huh? You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he breathed, chuckling manically. "Yeah, ya know, why don't you just do just that. Got nothing to live for anyway." He was silent for a moment, not making any sound except for his accelerated breathing. He noticed that the ugly face in front of him was blurred. He wanted to wipe his eyes, but a few bystanders had pressed his arms to the ground.

"Come on, just fucking do it!" he suddenly shouted. He jerked his hands loose from the bystanders and took the hand that was holding the blade, but before he could press any further, the other man, and thus the knife, disappeared. Dean looked up and saw the man standing again, disgust clearly readable on his face.

"You are pathetic. Go home, jerk."

Dean blinked and saw the man walk away. He closed his eyes for a moment. He just wanted to sleep, not being to feel anything, just for a moment. But before he knew it, somebody had dragged him up and, while he was spluttering that he could stand up by himself just fine, he was dragged outside and dropped onto the cold, hard ground.

The person stood there, hesitantly. "You owe the bar some money, bro."  
Dean attempted to crawl up, but both the sky and the earth were spinning too much. He decided to try again later. "Not your bro," he muttered.  
The person sighed and turned around. "Yeah, whatever. At least try not to let yourself get hit by a car or something." The door opened, closed, and Dean was alone.

He just lay there for a few moments, eying the stars above him. It was only when a dark cloud covered the tiny little lights that he made an attempt to rise. He grabbed a nearby car and dragged himself up. He pretended not to notice the piercing sound of the alarm that had gone off at his touch and, after stumbling over his own feet maybe once or twice, he began his way home on foot. He was aware that he could have taken a cab, but he felt like he needed some air. A lot of it, actually. The encounter in the bar had invited the depression that had loomed on the edge of Dean's life to get a better grasp on him. Until now, he had always been able to laugh away his pain, to find something worth living yet another day for. But now, with the alcohol slowing down his mind until it was a sombre, black mess, he just couldn't anymore. Every step he took tightened the knot in his stomach that he had grown familiar with and pulled his thoughts farther down the black hole, circling around one word.

Lisa.

He could remember the way she would smile at him. The way she had kissed him, encouraged him—the way she would just understand without questioning. Her whole existence had brought so much light in his life that, now that the source had been ripped out of it, he could barely see through the darkness. Dean stopped walking as memories flooded his mind once again, seeking balance in a metal bar behind him. A chaste smile, eyes suddenly looking away; bright lights, a scream, squealing brakes followed by a crushing sound. Blood; pain. Darkness.

His hands tightened on the metal bar that, now he had forced his eyes open to take in his surroundings, he realized was the railing of a bridge. He laughed humourlessly. How ironic. He then turned around to stare across the dark river. As far he could look, he saw darkness; it was only because he heard the sound of streaming water that he knew that it was actually a river and not some portal to hell itself.

Or maybe it was.

Dean's heart skipped a beat and then continued more rapidly than before when he realized what he was thinking. His hands grasped the railing more firmly; it suddenly seemed so easy to get rid of all his problems. To finally stop his never-ending pain. To, perhaps, see Lisa once more. He nodded quietly to himself. This was it. It wasn't like he had anything to live for anyway—with his wife, mother and father death, and—

Sammy.

His thoughts became a bit more clear for a moment. No. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this to his little brother; they used to be so close. Used to be. Until he decided to go live at the other side of friggin' America. Dean's shoulders slumped and he rested his head on the railing. Of course, there was the occasional call, but they had grown apart – there was no denying that. Now he thought about it, the last time he'd heard from Sam was about a week ago. Something about food. He couldn't remember.  
Dean sighed deeply, and with shaking hands, he reached for his cell phone. With some trouble, he unlocked the screen and blinked at the too bright light. With his eyes narrowed in concentration, he typed the message.

To: Sammy - 2:35 AM

im sprry sammy

He stared at it for some longer and then, with a restrained sob, clicked 'send'. Yes. This was definitely it. The end of Dean Winchester's life. Without looking back, he put his mobile back in his pocket, and carefully swung his legs over the railing. Somehow, even though he knew it was all going to end anyway, he didn't want to fall by accident. It had to be his own choice. After a bit of a struggle, he stood there at the other side of the railing, breathing rapidly and staring intently at the pitch black water. His hands were clenched around the railing, his primal survival instincts kicking into action despite the alcohol clouding his head and his extreme desire to just stop everything.

He was afraid. His breathing nearly turned into hyperventilating and his hands hurt from clawing so damn hard into the railing. He vaguely realized that he was making an immense redundant mistake. For a moment, he just wanted to turn around and go home. But he couldn't. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't. If he'd try to turn around and climb back to safer grounds, he'd most certainly lose his balance and die anyway.

"Just jump, loser," shouted someone from a distance. A few people laughed; footsteps faded away.

Dean's fear suddenly dulled, and all he felt was the empty black hole in his stomach. The stranger was right. He should just give in. He closed his eyes, and let himself lean a bit more forward, his hands still holding the railing but no longer gripping it like his life depended on it. Even though, of course, it did.

He breathed in, and out. His hands started shaking. In and out. He felt them become slippery from sweat. In and out. His right hand began to lose grip. In and-

"Please, don't," a low, soft voice sounded suddenly. Dean almost let go, just out of pure shock since the voice was so near, but instead he tightened his grip around the metal bar.

"Fuck off," he croaked in reply. He closed his eyes and counted to three. The other person hadn't said anything in response by then. He leaned a bit more forward, his hands quickly losing his re-established grip.

"Dean, please. You know you don't want to do this." The voice sounded more urgent now.

"You have no idea what I want," Dean breathed. "But let me tell you. I just want to leave this fucking misery that calls itself a life. Why don't you just go away and let me die in peace, will you?"

"No, I will not." The voice sounded determined, almost to the point of light anger. The hand that clasped his shoulder and pulled him back against the railing took Dean by surprise. His head still spinning, he felt like this was the point he'd lose his balance and fall to a certain death. But he didn't fall. The stranger behind him held him with almost inhuman strength.

"Why are you doing this," Dean whispered, suddenly sounding broken.

It was silent for a moment, but suddenly bright, vivid memories flooded Dean's mind. He saw Charlie and himself at their first Comic Con, both cracking a shit eating grin as they showed each other their loot. He saw Sammy drinking his first beer, first pulling a face but gradually starting to enjoy it to the point of an immense giggle fit. He saw Bobby who, ruefully smiling, gave him his very first and definitely most awesome birthday cake ever – even though it was practically inedible because of the thick, black crust. He saw Garth and Benny and Kevin and the times that had made him feel like he could do anything.

As abruptly as the flood of memories started, it stopped. The glorious, light feeling faded into fear as he remembered that he was still standing on a ledge, the only thing securing him not to fall being the hand of a stranger on his shoulder.

The voice of said stranger broke the tense silence.  
"Please, allow me to help you."

Dean nodded wordlessly.

An arm came into his vision, wavering there for a few seconds, until Dean realized he was probably supposed to take it. He let go of the railing with one hand, and held onto the arm, probably bruising the stranger by clenching his nails into his skin so hard.  
"You can turn around now. I've got you."

Slowly, Dean did as the other man told him. He turned around, holding on to the man's arms desperately. Soon, he stumbled back on the bridge. Letting out a shivery breath, he felt his legs go numb. He would have broken down if it wasn't for the strange man, who still hadn't let go of his arms. Dean leaned slightly forward into the stranger's arms, his forehead now resting on the other's shoulder. He didn't know how or why, but somehow, here on a deserted bridge in the middle of the night and with his only companion being a strange man he had never met before, he felt safer than ever before. He cried soundlessly.

He didn't know how long they stood there, Dean holding on tightly to the stranger's upper arms, with the other man returning the grip as he made sure that he wouldn't fall down. It was when Dean finally stopped crying and his breathing slowed down that he heard the other man's voice again.

"Let's go home."

Dean nodded into his shoulder. He felt so tired suddenly, now the adrenaline caused by the previous events had completely disappeared.  
He never knew how they reached his home. One second, he was standing on a bridge; the next, it seemed, he was on his bed, about to fall asleep. The only thing he remembered was the brightest blue he had ever seen.


	2. Silent Lucidity

__

II.

I will be watching over you  
I am gonna help you see it through  
I will protect you in the night  
I am smiling next to you  
In silent lucidity  


"Hello, Castiel."

"Naomi."

"I suppose you know why you're here."

"I… I think I do. Yes."

"Then why don't you tell me."

Silence.

"Castiel."

"… I saved my human last night."

"That indeed is the reason why you're here. But please, be more specific. How did you rescue your human?"

"I… I stopped him from taking his own life."

"Exactly. You revealed yourself to them, spoke to them and even touched them in order to implement your memories into his mind. Are you aware of the consequences this inappropriate behaviour will bring to you?"

Silence.  
"Castiel, please. Be a bit more responsive."

"I'm sorry."

"That's the problem. I do not think you are."

Silence.

"You were explicitly told to never reveal yourself to your human – in any circumstances. I understand that their actions startled you, but-"

"I was only doing what I had to do! I protected him from himself and thus saved him."  
"You saved them by breaking the rules, Castiel. We can't allow this."

"My human most likely does not have any recollections from past night's events; he was not in his right mind at the time."  
"It is true that they weren't in their right mind, and that's the only reason why we decided not to waste you. We will have to punish you, though."

A sigh, and a nod.  
"I understand."

"Good. Your grace will be taken from you and you shall walk among human kind until you have reconsidered your actions."

"… What about Dean?"

A slightly annoyed sigh.

"Your human will be fine. I will have another guardian appointed to them as soon as possible. Now, prepare yourself for your fall, Castiel. I hope to see you back in Heaven soon."

An explosion of sounds, scents, colours and feelings. Voices, light, the rush of cars; a burning sensation in his belly, a dull smell, a slightly hurting throat. His head, it's spinning – a cold sensation on the palm of his hand; is he holding something?

Castiel breathed in and out, trying to calm down and cope with the sudden overflow of feelings and observations. It didn't work. A feeling of unease; panic. He looked around. Where am I? Fear. So many moving vehicles, so many humans surrounding him and the sounds they were all producing suffocated him. The cars started honking, someone pushed his shoulder.

"… green! Walk, you dickbag."

He realized that the thing he had been holding was an object that he remembered Dean calling a traffic light. He was in a city then, close to a road. No. He was standing on the middle of a road and should be walking to the other side. He pushed himself away from the traffic light and placed one foot after the other. The cars. They kept on honking. Another person bumped into him; a piercing scent entered his nose. Perfume, deodorant, eau de cologne? It didn't matter; he just had to keep on walking. But why, he wondered, did the cars start moving forwards? He was still on the road and yet they were getting closer. More honking. More panic. A human body could not handle the impact of a metal object this size crushing into it, he knew. The end was in sight, though. He had to walk only a few more meters to reach the other side of the road. He fastened his pace. A car abruptly stopped at a few inches from his leg, causing Castiel to jump. The person who had been driving the car stuck his head outside, so Castiel stopped walking. This was what people did if they wanted to communicate, as far as he knew.

"C'mon, I ain't got all day!" the human shouted, and, as if to put more power behind his words, he honked twice.

"I- I'm sorry," Castiel stuttered and quickly ran towards the safety of the pavement.

He had no idea what to do next.

He'd never been in a human vessel before. He knew what to expect from humans, though. Of course he did. He had been observing them and silently living amongst them all his existence. But he had never known what it was like to experience emotions this fierce and vivid; to feel hunger or thirst or to feel exhaustion. He couldn't possibly name everything he was experiencing right now, or know how to fulfil the needs as to make the negative feelings disappear.

People kept bumping into him and yelling profanities at him. He realized he shouldn't just stand there but find somewhere quieter to overthink everything. He let the crowd lead him in his motions, following the humans to their unknown destinations.

After minutes of walking, Castiel noticed a gate that led to a green environment. As he walked through the gate, the sound of the chaos behind him finally dimmed until it was just a soft buzz in the distance. He sighed in relief, and slowly walked further, following the path that led through the park. Soon, he neared a small pond. He sat down on a nearby bench and stared at the water. For the first time, he saw his human form. Dark hair, blue eyes, his cheeks covered in a short stubble. Still looking at his reflection in the water, he reached up to touch his face, slowly exploring the new, unknown textures of human skin and hair. He was wearing a beige, long coat. A trench coat, he was reminded by a little voice in the back of his head. He must have heard the word before on one of his visits to earth. He frowned lightly, letting his hand drop back on his lap. It worried him that he couldn't remember the exact occasion, location and time that he had heard about this phenomenon. Not too long ago he would have remembered anything he had ever seen, been able to recall the tiniest detail of a memory. But, he realized, the human mind and memory were very limited.

He was distracted from his train of thought as someone sat down next to him on the bench. He looked up, to see a female human who was about the age of Bobby, the man who had been like a father to Dean when his own had passed away. She smiled at him; he quickly glanced down at his reflection in the water again, not knowing how he should respond to this kind of human interaction. He discovered that he was wearing a blue tie. Curiously, he lifted the tie a bit so that he could study it.

"I'm sorry, it's probably not any of my business. But aren't you cold?" The voice of the female sounded concerned.

Castiel blinked and dropped the tie, thinking about the question. Actually, he was cold. He glanced at his fingers, which he now noticed were swollen and red.  
"I am," he answered truthfully.

"Maybe you should consider wearing another coat then," the female said. She sounded friendly. "It's really cold for this time of the year, and that fabric seems so thin."

Again, the woman was right, Castiel realized as he studied his coat a bit closer. The fabric was indeed very thin. It was probably designed as some kind of summer jacket.

"Unfortunately, I do not own a coat fit for this weather," Castiel replied.

"Then why don't you buy one?" the human suggested.

Castiel was silent for a moment. He was aware that this whole society revolved around money and property, so he imagined that if he told her that he owned absolutely nothing at the moment, it would invoke negative reactions.

It was the truth, though.

"I… I can't buy anything. I don't have any money," he admitted, preparing himself for a negative remark of some sorts, like one of the profanities he had gotten thrown upon him when he was only trying to cross a street.

The female just frowned slightly.

"How come? You seem like a decent young man. Did you gamble your money?"

"What? Gamble? I… No. I do not gamble." Castiel sighed and rested his head in the palms of his hands. "It's… my family. I broke the rules thus they took everything I had. I will get it back, eventually, though. They're not bad… people."

The woman's frowned deepened. "So just because you made a mistake, they robbed you of everything you ever had? I can tell you one thing, dear. Those are not good people." She put a comforting hand on Castiel's shoulder. He was not used to this kind of closeness though, and flinched back, causing the woman to quickly retreat her hand. "Don't you have anyone else to go back to?" she asked softly.

Castiel shook his head, staring back at his own reflection. The look he saw on his face reminded him of what Dean had looked like the past few months. Worn-out and miserable. He suddenly felt very guilty that he couldn't be there for him anymore.

"There is one person, though," he said softly. "But I do not think it's possible for me to see him. I don't know how to reach him."

"Don't you know where he lives?"

"I think I do." Castiel remembered the signs he always saw when he entered the city. "He lives in Lawrence, Kansas."

The woman laughed softly. "That's quite the city, dear. Do you have an address?"

Castiel dug in his memory but couldn't possibly remember the street Dean lived on. He shrugged helplessly.

"I'm sorry, I don't. I could probably find it if I were there, but I just can't seem to remember now."

The woman clearly hesitated before continuing.

"I was going to visit my kids in Osage City today anyway. If you want, I can take you with me and drop you off in Lawrence. It isn't that much of a detour."

Castiel looked at her, his eyes widened.

"That… that would be amazing. You're an incredibly kind woman. Thank you."

She smiled.

"It's all right. I'll just be dropping you off, though. You'll have to look for your friend yourself."

"I understand," said Castiel, nodding, a hesitant smile appearing on his face. He had never had a friend before; now Dean, even though the female didn't know him, was equated to a friend of his, he suddenly felt immensely proud. "When are we leaving?"

The woman chuckled and rose from the bench. "We can leave now, if you want. I don't think my children will mind if I show up a bit earlier than expected."

Castiel followed her to her car, which appeared to be an example of what he remembered Dean calling a 'Tin Snail'. It was small and red and Castiel loved it immediately.

"It's not much, but it'll get us to our destination," the woman spoke as she saw him eying the car.

"I think your car looks wonderful," Castiel said in return.

"Right," the woman chuckled, and got in the car. Castiel just stood there for a second, wondering what he should do. Yes, he should get in the car, that much was obvious. But how was he supposed to open the door without making fool of himself? He cursed himself for not paying attention when the female or anyone else for that matter had opened the door of a car. Slowly, he reached out to a silver object that stuck out of the door, and turned it. It was not very effective. He tried to turn it the other way around and then noticed that he was supposed to push it down. The door opened, and Castiel got in the car. The human was eying him questioningly.

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"No, I am not. Why are you asking?" replied Castiel curiously, and then, a slight hint of fear popping up in his stomach, he added, "Are you?"

"No, I'm not having second thoughts. I just thought you were, because you were lingering outside for so long." She started the car and slowly drove away from the parking spot.

"I see." Castiel looked through the window. They were going faster now. Not as fast as he was accustomed to by using his wings of course – but for him and his new human body, it was a thrilling experience.

"You should fasten your seat belt," the woman pointed out after a minute.

Castiel blinked.

"My what? Oh… wait, yes. Of course." He looked to his right, searching for the seat belt that should be around there somewhere. He fortunately found it faster than expected, and in no time the belt was secured. Again, Castiel felt somewhat proud; he thought that maybe being human wouldn't be so difficult after all.

It was silent for a while. Castiel enjoyed himself by looking outside, curiously taking in all the different landscapes that flew by. Sometimes they would pass a village, but most of the time they were in different stages of 'The Middle of Nowhere' – again a definition he had heard Dean mutter to himself on long road trips. He had never paid much attention to his surroundings when they were on such trips. He would just silently watch Dean, attentive to every single detail of his face and sometimes globally reading his mind to see whether it was still safe for him to drive. His breath hitched as he thought back to the time that his protection hadn't been enough. He still blamed himself for overlooking the truck that seemed to have come out of nowhere and crashed two of the things that his human had loved most – his fiancé and his car.

"What's your name?" The voice of the woman suddenly broke through Castiel's thoughts. He turned back to face the woman, whose gaze was still locked on the road.

"I am Castiel," he answered, and nearly added that he was an angel of the Lord before remembering that wasn't exactly true at the moment.

"Oh, so you're the angel of Saturday?" the woman asked with a small smile. Castiel stiffened for a second, until he realized she was probably only joking. In her eyes, there would probably be no such thing as angels.

"You might be confusing me with Cassiel," he said softly, allowing his eyes to wander off to the side window again. This was not the first time he had been mistaken for the great Cassiel. "He is the angel of Saturday, as well as one of the seven Archangels. My name was destined for a mere Guardian Angel."

"Oh." The woman was silent for a long moment. Then, she flicked her eyes over to Castiel, who was staring outside, his eyes unfocused. She smiled kindly, and continued, "Well, I actually think Castiel's a beautiful name. This world could use a few more of your 'mere' Guardian Angels."

Those simple words touched Castiel more than they should have. His eyes started burning, and he swallowed with difficulty. Eventually, he managed a small, but sincere smile.  
"Thank you."

"My name is Martha, by the way," she added. Castiel nodded.

The rest of the trip went by in comfortable silence. After a bit more time riding in The Middle of Nowhere, he saw a sign that he recognized. It stated that the city Lawrence was only 20 miles away from them. His breathing accelerated in excitement. Castiel kept closely monitoring the signs they passed. The distance to Dean became smaller and smaller until they finally stopped at a square he vaguely recognized.

They both got out of the car.

"So, here we are," the woman named Martha said. Castiel nodded. "Do you think you can handle it from here by yourself?"  
"Yes, I believe so." Castiel looked around, hoping to see something he recognized. He wasn't very successful. He looked back at the human in front of him, and smiled another small smile. "I am immensely grateful for the opportunity you offered me. Even though I can't give you anything in return at this moment, I will never forget this."

Martha chuckled. "It's all right, Castiel. It was my pleasure. I hope you'll find your friend soon and that things work out for you."  
Having said that, she stepped back in the car. Honking once and waving, she drove away from Castiel, who once again looked around and wondered where he should go next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have the song Angels And Demons by Front Porch Step as prologue.


	3. Angels and Demons

 

_III._

_You're the angel that gives me reason_   
_But I can't begin to count my demons_   
_Somehow you still keep me dreamin'_   
_You let me know my life has meaning_

Dean woke up by noon with a fierce headache and a phone filled with concerned messages and missed calls from Sam. After drinking away a tablet of paracetamol and ensuring his brother that everything was fine and he had just gotten a bit drunk the night before, he decided to take a shower. While the water streamed over his head, he tried to recall what exactly had happened last night. He started to wash his face, but stopped when he brushed past his nose; a groan escaped from his mouth. Oh, right. He had gotten into a fight at the bar and his nose had suffered from it. Fantastic.

Slowly, some other memories began to come back to him. He remembered being dragged out of the bar and some random dude talking to him. He groaned again, now from remembering that he hadn't even paid for his drinks. A black hole followed the memory of the mostly one-sided conversation. And then, a bridge. Dean frowned and cursed as he connected the alarmed texts from Sam with his recollection of the bridge. So now he was trying to kill himself when drunk? With a troubled sigh, he got out of the shower, suddenly feeling a bit sick.

The only thing that had escaped from his memory was how he even had survived climbing over the railing and back. He dried his hair, a frown seemingly permanently stuck on his features. Then he remembered something. A voice, low and concerned. Like he mattered. He stopped his movements and stared at the mirror for a while, not seeing anything. A tan coat. His frown deepened as he realized that he was somehow talked out of jumping by a complete stranger, even though he couldn't remember any of their words. But he did remember something else; a flash of the purest blue he had ever seen.

Dean ultimately decided that it was too chaotic to think about it while he was still hung-over, so he just grabbed some clothes and prepared himself for the day. After he was fully dressed, he walked into the kitchen to make some comfort food for his self-induced pity party. He was glad to find anything edible in the fridge and even more so when he found out it was bacon. He also discovered a few eggs but after breaking the shell of one and seeing the slightly questionable colour, he quickly threw them in the trash can.

With a small smile of victory, Dean suddenly remembered that he had some frozen hamburgers left in his freezer. Bacon burgers for breakfast it was, then. He put on the radio and hummed along with some sappy love song he vaguely recognized as he prepared his food. The burgers ended up to be a bit burned, but Dean still counted it as the best breakfast he had had in days.

When he sat down to devour the bacon burgers, his thoughts about yesterday slowly crept back into his mind. He was ashamed of himself; really ashamed of himself. Not only because he had been pathetic enough to provoke a fight with some random dude and afterwards had made a nearly successful attempt to end his life; he also suddenly realized how much he had neglected his friends in the past few months.

They had always been there for him, before and after the accident. They had supported Dean with phone calls and small visits. He had appreciated their efforts, but over time, he had stopped picking up his phone and started pretending he wasn't at home if anyone visited unexpectedly. He had become some kind of hermit, swallowed in self-pity and not willing to face reality. He hadn't even noticed at the time. But now, as he was eating his slightly blackened bacon burgers after a futile suicide attempt, he was shaken back into the cold reality. He needed to change his life before it was too late.

When he had finished his last burger, he took his phone and thoughtfully searched through his contacts. He had no idea if there was even someone left who still would want to talk with him after this long. He reached the end of the list, and started scrolling back, sighing wearily. He had screwed up big time. He slowed down and stared at one name hesitantly. His forefinger hovered above the screen for a few seconds. Dean desperately tried to think of a reason not to call, but eventually he forced his finger to touch the screen. He brought the phone to his ear, listening to the waiting tone.

Beep

He swallowed. This was stupid. He should just hang up and get a dog or something. Friends are overrated.

Beep

Or a canary. He really didn't feel like taking a dog out for a shit four times a day.

Beep

See? She wasn't going to pick up. Hanging up had never seemed like such a good idea. There was an animal shelter not so far away-

"Dean?"

Dean almost choked on his own spit when he heard the voice on the other side of the line.

"Uh, yeah. It's me. Heya, Charlie."

It stayed silent for a moment.

"You there?"

"Y-yes! It's just… Wow. I almost forgot you had a phone, Dean. Or that you were even alive."

Dean grimaced at the last part of her sentence.

"Yeah… sorry 'bout that, Charles. I guess I just needed some time for myself."

"I noticed. We all did."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. He was about to make another apology when Charlie started speaking again.

"So… You called for a reason? You ready to hang out with us again?"

It struck Dean how hopeful she sounded.

"Yeah, ya know, that's why I called. I was wondering if you felt like watching a movie sometime this week or something?"

"Hmm. Let me check my calendar." He heard a shuffling noise at the other side of the line. "Wednesday, maybe? Or…" It was silent for a moment. "Friday! We can have a movie marathon!"

Dean chuckled at her sudden enthusiasm.

"Friday sounds good to me. Your place or mine?"

"What about your place and I can pick the movies?"

"Deal."

"Great! See ya Friday then!"

"Yeah, laters."

He was about to hang up when he heard another sound coming from his phone.

"Dean? Still there?"

"Sure, why?"

It was silent for a moment.

"I'm glad you called."

Dean's eyes suddenly became a bit blurry.

"… Me too."

Another pause.

"Uhm… Yeah. See ya, Dean."

"Bye, Charles."

An hour later, Dean found himself driving the rental car he'd been using since the accident. The car itself was nice - a Dodge Challenger from the mid-seventies. The black, smooth exterior reminded him a bit of his own, good ol' Chevy Impala, but he couldn't help but desperately look forward to the time he'd finally fix his car and be able to ditch the Challenger. He had been working on her occasionally, but the last couple of weeks had been rather unproductive. Dean decided that he should pay Bobby, who had been storing the Impala for him, a visit again as soon as possible.

When Dean had reached his destination, he parked his car and got out. He was standing on the very same pavement where he had been laying quite ungracefully the night before. He stared at the door; he really didn't want to go inside that bar ever again. But if he ever wanted to be able to live with himself again, he should start with apologizing for his retarded behaviour. So he opened the door and walked in.

He noticed that as he entered, a few people went quiet. They probably recognized him from last night. He sighed and just continued walking until he reached the counter, where he met the back of the blonde who had been serving his drinks the night before.

He coughed, and said, "Hey."

She turned around, wearing the customary smile, which immediately froze into a slight frown as she recognized him.

"Hello," she replied warily.

Dean smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Thought you might recognize me," he said. The barmaid rose an eyebrow and crossed her arms defensively. Dean cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'm not here to cause more trouble. I came here to apologize for yesterday. Things have been rough lately, and I, ya know, just, snapped." He shrugged helplessly.

The girl in front of him just kept staring expectantly.

Again, Dean cleared his throat. He could use a drink. But, he reminded himself, he still had to drive home. "So, uh, how much do I owe you?" He took his wallet from his pocket.

The barmaid looked at him for a second, and then walked a bit closer, resting an elbow on the bar.

"Thirty-eight fifty," she answered, and then added with a small, but serious smile, "and your story."

Dean flicked his eyes back to the girl as he was digging in his wallet, looking for some money. "Yeah, I suppose I owe you my story." He smiled at her, feeling his nervousness begin to ease. "I need to know your name first, though. Oh, and keep the change." He handed her a bill of fifty dollars.

"Sure thing. The name's Jo," she said with a wink, as she put the money away securely. "Yours?"

And so, Dean told his story for the first time to someone who hadn't already heard about it. He told her about Lisa, the woman he had been together with for more than 5 happy years. He also told her about Sammy, who had decided to move to Oregon because of his girlfriend Jess. He told her about the proposal, and the idea to visit Sam and Jess to tell them the great news in person. And then, he told her about how they never reached their destination. About how a truck crashed into their car and killed everything he had dreamed of. He didn't tell her about how he still hated himself for surviving while his beautiful soon-to-be wife did not.

He just ended his story there. Jo stared at him, her eyes watery.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Dean inhaled to respond, but nothing but a croaky sound left his throat. He blinked a few times and tried to smile instead.  
Jo took his hand and just held it for a while in complete silence. Then, she got called away by a few new thirsty customers.

When she got back, Dean was already standing and pulling on his coat.  
"Are you leaving?" she asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, giving a quick smile. "I'm driving, and I don't think I can be surrounded by beers any longer without sinning."

Jo chuckled, and then seemed to be writing something down.

"Here," she said when she looked up again, handing him a piece of paper. "I understand if it's too early for you, but… Just give me a call, if you ever want to talk again. Whenever you're ready." She smiled somewhat shyly.

Dean took a quick look at the hurriedly scrawled telephone number, and then flashed another grin to Jo.

"You'll hear from me soon," he said with a wink.

After that, they said their goodbyes and Dean left the bar, feeling better than expected. Somehow, talking about everything did help. And getting a pretty girl's phone number did too.

As he got outside, he noticed it had already gotten a bit dark. He quickly checked his watch; it was 5:30. He put his hands deep in his pockets. He really hated the cold weather that November had brought this year.

Dean was about to walk over to his car, when he spotted someone at the other side of the street who was looking at him intently. He frowned; creepy. He turned around when a feeling of familiarity hit him. He turned back, to find the stranger was still staring at him. He was wearing a tan trench coat, which definitely didn't seem fit for this temperature. Hesitantly, he crossed to road to get a better look at the man. As he neared, the stranger got a slightly bewildered expression and he looked like he wanted to walk away.

"Wait," Dean half-shouted to keep the man's attention. He saw the man come to a stop and reluctantly turn back to face him. "Do I know you?"

"I…" The man's gravelly voice died away, and he just kept staring at Dean, almost desperately. Dean had stopped a meter in front of him; he met his gaze and suddenly it hit him.

His eyes.

They were so incredibly fucking blue.

"You… You're the dude from the bridge, right?" Dean asked slowly.

"Yes," the man answered earnestly. "I indeed am the… dude from the bridge."

Dean stared at him for a second and then burst out in laughter at how awkward the other man had managed to make his previous sentence sound. He tried to stop when the other kept staring at him, uncomprehendingly.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Dean said, still trying to stop giggling. "It's just- I don't know you, but let me give you some advice; never ever say something like 'dude' again. It doesn't suit you, man."

The other man nodded slowly.  
"In that case, I shall remember to never use that word again," he replied.

Dean's laughing fit soon died after the stranger's serious words. He coughed, trying to get his face straight again.

"Uh, yeah. Good idea. Anyway… Thank you. For what you did at the bridge, I mean."

"It was my honour." The man avoided Dean's gaze, staring at the pavement.

"But really, thank you," Dean continued, trying to get another look at the other man's eyes. "I owe you big time. If there's anything I can do for you…"

Dean didn't even need to finish his sentence. The other man's stomach suddenly growled aggressively, causing the stranger to clasp his stomach, looking horrified.

"I apologize," he managed. "It has been making this sound for over an hour-"

It took all Dean's strength not to grin at the man's frightened face. He had no idea why this man was overreacting like this; he must be some kind of overly polite nerd or something. But it was cute. Ish. No homo.

"You know what? I know this place that serves real great burgers. Let's go there and I'll buy you dinner, okay?"  
The other man looked down at his stomach once more, and then nodded.

"I suppose that might be a good idea."


End file.
